Frenzied Daddy

Ms B told me that the NRA thought that terrorism suspects had a right to carry guns. This led to an interesting debate. But the problem was a difference in perceptions- I thought she meant “as opposed to other people.” But she meant “as opposed to the idea that people in general have a right to carry guns.” In other words; I treated it as a legal right, she treated it as a moral right.

Which are neither the same nor are mutually exclusive.

This isn’t really a post to bring up that discussion; it’s a segue for this coffee mug.

Enjoy.

I Do It

She’s not quite there, but this is an excellent example of kids who develop on their own timeline and not on ours. Miss K is as strong willed as her sister, and everything we try to do with her is punctuated by exclamation points, usually with “I DO IT” right next to those points.

Case in, err, point; Miss K has learned to buckle herself into her car seat. “I DO IT!” she shrieks at me when I’m trying to get her in. This is exactly the place I was in when Miss B was this age; I’m still trying to do stuff for her to get it done faster (can I put your shirt on? “I DO IT!” … “cmere already!” ) while she’s exploring the personal choice given by her… doing it herself.

Three years old, for me, is rougher than two was- and it’s precisely this problem. We both have ideas on how something should be done, and I’m used to being the one to do it, so I try to bully her into doing something, but then we both wind up crying and frustrated. It’s so much easier for me to “let go” and try to do something together, but that’s the step I have to take.

By the way, shortly after this, I managed to give Miss K Nursemaid’s Elbow by manhandling her and the camera into the house.

I had a dream last week; I was back working at Hot Off The Press. I was sitting in a small office with glass walls, doing some coding for another client. And the CIO was running some sort of packet sniffer or keylogger, because he came over to my desk and we had a long chat about my responsibilities.
Last night I had a dream that I was waiting tables for Red Robin again, after a long vacation. I only had two tables, though; one was a very quiet young lady who didn’t need a lot of help; but she did use up all the chocolate syrup in the restaurant. The other was a very demanding couple- who needed everything from more garlic cheese bread, to knowing what sort of well scotch we used in the bar. And there was normal cleanup stuff to do- someone had been smoking in my section and the big glass ashtrays needed to be washed.

Some odd dreams, hmm? Wonder what could be prompting them.

… have lead me to this point.
The last two times I’ve gone in to donate blood, the screener has reported that I have a somewhat regular arrhythmia. Both times, less than ten skips per minute, both times they suggested I talk to my doctor. Neither time did they actually turn me down. I had to make an appointment this past Monday in order to get my prescriptions refilled, and so also brought up the heart thing. Actually I had to go back in to discuss it. I was mildly distressed to learn that not only was I ten pounds over what I thought I weighed (243 instead of 233, which is too high anyway), but also that my blood pressure was slightly elevated (like in the 145 over 95 zone) I thought this was because of the day.

When they ran the EKG on me, they didn’t find any arrhythmia, but my heart shows evidence of high blood pressure. So I need to go back in a few weeks for another check. What the hell? I’m glad I went back in for the EKG but … hypertension? Old people get that! I’m not old, dammit! Actually I’m more upset about the aging than I am about the hypertension itself. If I’m going to live with high blood pressure, I have to make some dietary changes (which will help with that freaking fat butt too ). You know, eating more fruits and vegetables. Eating less hamburgers. It’s the DASH diet.

Not to be outdone, Mrs B started complaining last night about pain in her chest and shooting arm pains. Oh and nausea. And feeling clammy. You know, heart attack symptoms. Mrs B’s father had a massive heart attack at 32, so we’re a little sensitive. We rushed her to the hospital and let the doctors have their way. It was a crazy day at the ER and it took us about three hours to get an EKG. Her heart was “normal,” but of course they were going to admit her and run some tests. Instead (because we had the girls and we all had to work in the morning), we came home at 2AM and she made an appointment to see her doctor.

Her doctor says it’s not her heart and is treating her pain with Naproxen. I’m still a little worried but, as I usually do, I’m trusting the doctor to do their job competently.

I was out taking pictures of Miss K this afternoon, and when we were done, I needed to get Miss K and the camera inside. I held the camera in one hand and lifted the complaining miss K with my hand around her wrist, and put her through the doorway. Immediately she was complaining about it hurting- I thought I had twisted it or pinched it or something.

She didn’t really stop crying; she slowed down when she was sitting still, but poking it still caused more screaming. I finally decided to take her to the doctor.

Who knew? There’s a condition called “nursemaid elbow.” It’s semi-common for kids under 5, before the connections mature enough to prevent it. It’s temporary, and the treatment was to try to get her to put on a jacket (which didn’t work, and caused more crying) or to carefully and quickly move the arm in a way that puts it back into place. Apparently putting it back together is painful too.

Anyway, ten minutes after they popped her back together, she was taking her sticker ( with the hurt arm ) and smiling. She’s fine now, I’m just feeling like an ogre. So … don’t pick your preschoolers up by one arm.

I don’t know how it happened, but this family has gotten bigger. Somehow one of the girls in Mrs B’s family had … a son! No, I understand the mechanics of how babies happen, but this is the first boy on that side of the family; Mrs B has four sisters, we have two girls, Aunt T only has daughters, and Aunt M has one daughter. Well, now Aunt M has a son.

Boy is he going to be trained right.

And yes, he’s perfect. Apgar scores of 9 and 10.